


your eyes outshine the town, they do

by twilightstargazer



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Alternate Universe - Magic, Christmas Fluff, F/M, Secret Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-26
Updated: 2019-12-26
Packaged: 2021-02-26 09:29:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,593
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21967171
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/twilightstargazer/pseuds/twilightstargazer
Summary: “I’m going to make you enjoy Christmas,” she tells him, her confidence in herself almost overwhelming. “I can’t do anything about the weather but I’m pretty sure I can handle the rest. By the time the season is over you’re going to love Christmas.”“I highly doubt that,” he says, staring at her hard. “I may just tolerate it at best.”“I’ll take it,” she says, “Bellamy Blake, prepare to have the best Christmas of your life.or, sometimes christmas is you and your rival falling into a snowbank together.
Relationships: Bellamy Blake/Clarke Griffin
Comments: 38
Kudos: 249
Collections: Chopped: Holiday Trope Exchange 1.0





	your eyes outshine the town, they do

**Author's Note:**

  * For [thelittlefanpire](https://archiveofourown.org/users/thelittlefanpire/gifts).



> written for the chopped holiday event! my tropes were magic au, competing businesses, secret relationship and kiss in the snow. enjoy!
> 
> unbetaed, title from last christmas by donny hathaway

Christmas is Clarke’s favourite holiday.

It has always been up there on her list but it’s only after she moved to Arkadia did it skyrocket to the top.

Arkadia is a small sleepy town located at the foot of the mountains. It’s bordered by lush, dense forest on either side and there’s only one way in and one way out of the town. During the summer the place is virtually desolate, with travellers few and in between but during the winter, every room at every hotel, every airbnb, even the hostels are filled to the brim with tourists gearing up to experience the magic of an Arkadian winter.

Because that is truly what it was. Magic.

The entire town always looked like something out of a postcard, blanketed in snow with fairy lights in each window. There was a fifty foot tree in the middle of town square and someone had enchanted delicate glass blown ornaments to remain attached to it no matter how hard the wind blew.

Clarke loves Arkadian Christmases. She loves decorating her little shop with lights and mistletoe and enchanting snowflakes to fall from the ceiling. Each table has a miniature Christmas tree as the centerpiece and the wreath on her front door has been enchanted to sing Christmas carols each time it’s opened. She’s even been wearing striped elf pants since before Thanksgiving.

For the most part, the entire town has been Christmas ready since Thanksgiving. The lone exception being the bakery across the street from her. Blake’s Bakes.

It’s probably the only store on main street that doesn’t decorate for the season. No fairy lights, no wreaths and certainly no Christmas trees. In fact, Clarke would swear that she saw him pull off the bell she taped to his door two days ago and throw it in the trash.

Bellamy Blake was the owner of that particular shop and he’s lived in Arkadia longer than she has. He’s also a dragon, which means that he’s perpetually grump and temperamental and absolutely loathes Clarke.

(Which is fine. She loathes him too. They loathe each other.)

“Your shop is depressing,” says Clarke as she waltzes in one day early in December. The shop closed about fifteen minutes ago but he’s notorious for never locking the front door.

She can see his broad shoulders tense beneath his apron as he turns to glare at her through the kitchen window.

“Sign says closed princess. What, can’t read?” he asks, gruff, and Clarke merely rolls her eyes before flicking her fingers at his cup of cooking utensils. Immediately they all fly out and start circling above him and Bellamy swears something that would make a sailor blush.

“You’re a fucking menace, you know that?” he says a few moments later after he’s grabbed every spatula and whisk that she made float around him. Clarke just flashes him a serene smile.

“I know.” She hops up on the counter that separates the front of the store from the kitchen and Bellamy mumbles something about no respect for other people’s property.

For a minute she just watches as he works, kneading the batch of pastry dough against the counter, big hands moving deftly and delicately as he folds in the butter, rolls it out and repeats the process all over again.

“What are you doing here, princess?” he asks as he folds it one last time before wrapping it tightly in some plastic wrap.

“What, a girl can’t check in on her Scrooge of a neighbour?”

“I prefer the term Grinch. Scrooge was a capitalist pig.”

“Duck.” At his blank look she flushes and says, “In the Disney version he’s Scrooge McDuck. Ergo, duck.”

Bellamy snorts. “Business must be slow if you’re here arguing about the semantics of Ebenezer Scrooge with me,” he says, slamming the fridge door closed a little too hard.

“Business is fine, but thanks for worrying,” she says, just a hint of teeth behind her grin. “I actually came to tell you that I got four new orders today. Which means that I’m taking the lead.”

“Cute,” he says, barely hiding his smirk. “Check the book.”

Her face pales a little. “No.”

“Oh yes.”

Bellamy likes to keep his records in an old leather bound notebook. Half of it is dedicated to the day’s sales and the other half is for recording orders and sure enough, happily glinting up at her in his messy scrawl were six different requests for pastries and cakes all due within the next week.

“Dammit,” she hisses and he just laughs at her.

See, here’s the thing about Bellamy and Clarke: they have a bit of a  _ history. _

Before Clarke moved to Arkadia, Bellamy’s bakery was the closest thing to a cafe that the town had. He didn’t serve food, but he had a wide variety of pastries and bread and the best coffee that she’s ever tasted. And then Clarke happened.

Clarke opened up her cafe right across the street from him and that was the start or their rivalry. She still remembers the day he stormed into her shop, accusing her of stealing all of his customers.

-

It was just before closing, the sky already an inky black outside and Clarke was just about to start cleaning up and packing things away when he walked in.

Her first thought was that he was gorgeous, all bronzed skin and broad shoulders and dark, messy hair. The second was that he looked awfully angry and the third was that he looked angry at  _ her. _

He spotted her behind the counter and walked over, and she noticed steam coming off of him in curls the closer he got followed by the scent of firewood. It didn’t take much to put two and two together, especially when he nailed her in place with that slit eyed glare, for her to realise that he was a dragon.

“You the owner of this place?” he asked, gruff, and Clarke felt like retreating into the wall.

“Um yes?”

He surveyed her for a moment and Clarke had no idea what he was looking for before he huffs, and a cloud of smoke almost enveloped the two of them.

“You enjoy stealing customers from other people, Princess? Can’t work up a proper clientele on your own?” he asked.

Clarke was gobsmacked. “I- what are you-  _ what? _ ”

He sneered at her. “You know exactly what I mean. Ever since you showed up my business has slowed.”

“Yeah? Well maybe people were fed up of dealing with a dragon with who has such a shit attitude!” she fired back. “Ever heard of customer service?”

“Ever heard about not stealing someone’s business? But wait, lemme guess, magical  _ brats _ like you think that you’re entitled to whatever you want huh?” he snapped, and Clarke felt her face flame with anger as her fists curled at her sides.

“I’m not entitled and I’m sure your business is fine.”

“How would you know?”

“Show me your books,” she challenged him. “If I really am stealing your business then your sales would reflect that.”

“You think I’m going to trust a witch to be impartial?” he snorts. “Yeah right.”

“Well then I’m not going 

“I don’t need to prove myself to  _ witches _ like you.”

“And I don’t need to waste my breath arguing with bull-headed dragons like you!” She snapped her fingers and the door flies open. “Now get out of my shop.”

“This isn’t the last you’ll see of me,” he promised, and Clarke flashed him her fakest, most saccharine smile.

“Oh, I’m counting on it, dragon.”

-

The bet didn’t really start until the town had to witness half a dozen more of their rows and they only stepped in when Clarke turned him into a toad after he singed off her eyebrows. It was Monty’s idea, the owner of the town’s apothecary. Every year they’d start at zero and by the end of it they’d all tally up and see who had more orders than they other after which the winner would be given bragging rights.

Clarke won the first year, but only just barely, and then Bellamy won the second year, again, only by a hair. This year was effectively the tie breaker and the competition was even more fierce this year especially since they started hooking up.

(See, she told you they had a  _ history _ .)

It was at the annual Summer Solstice party hosted by Jasper and Monty which meant that not only would there be copious amounts of alcohol, but copious amounts of weed too.

Dragons can’t drink. Dragons can smoke though, and Bellamy got a pleasant high off of Monty’s newest magical herb while Clarke was an avid fan of Jasper’s newest batch of summertime moonshine.

Here’s the thing, Bellamy and Clarke despise each other. That’s a fact.

It’s also a fact that Bellamy is quite possibly one of the hottest people she’s ever seen.

With both of them being a little drunk and a little high, their animosity wasn’t quite where it usually is. In fact, they were talking civilly, almost…  _ flirting _ . Which is why as the night wore on and they both consumed more alcohol and smoke, the more attractive they became to each other.

(Which was a damn feat in and of itself considering Clarke is always torn 50/50 between ripping his head off and ripping his clothes off.)

So when the opportunity presented itself, Clarke found herself in a dark garden shed sloppily making out with Bellamy Blake.

He was warm and solid and smelled like campfire smoke and just so  _ warm _ . It felt like everywhere he touched was set ablaze and Clarke couldn’t get enough. Despite both of them being impaired it was easily in the top five of her best make out sessions ever. Like  _ ever _ .

They didn’t talk about it after though.

Which was fine. Clarke doesn’t know how she’d manage that conversation considering every time they try to have a conversation they always end up at each other’s throats (and not in the pleasant way that they could be.)

So she marks it down as a one time thing and moves on with her life.

At least until it’s Miller’s birthday and they find themselves in the same position again, far less inebriated and much more conscious of what’s going on, and again, at Harper’s baby shower where there isn’t even any alcohol being served.

It’s after that that Clarke decides to put her foot down and broach the subject.

“So, uh, what are we doing here?” she asks, decidedly not looking at him in the bathroom mirror as she touches up her lipstick.

Bellamy shrugs from where he stood brooding in the corner and doesn’t say anything which makes irritation prick at her skin.

“Well, I think that whatever we’re doing here should remain just between us,” she say in her haughtiest, most princess-y voice. “At least until we figure out what it is.”

He simply shrugs again. “Whatever the hell you want, Princess,” he says gruffly before shouldering past her on his way out of the bathroom, leaving Clarke alone and confused.

That pretty much sets the tone for the rest of their random hookups: always rushed, always in secret and never, ever talked about between the two of them after.

-

Clarke takes the lead over the next couple of days as the holiday season really starts to kick in to gear. Every is Christmas parties and Clarke finds herself catering almost all of them, a fact that she lords over a very grumpy Bellamy’s head.

“I will eat you,” he threatens and she smirks at him.

“You already have,” she teases and laughs as the tips of his ears go red.

He throws an old scone at her face but Clarke is able to duck just in time and sends a stream of harmless sparks to his chest in retaliation.

“Maybe you might get more business if you weren’t such a Scrooge-- sorry, a Grinch. I’m just saying, there’s a lot of people wanting holiday cookies this time of year,” she says, looking around at his shop. It’s quite quaint, smelling of rich coffee and smoke, with mismatched plush armchairs and a bookshelves overflowing with stacks of books. But, as cute as it was, there was nothing that indicated  _ Christmas _ .

Bellamy stares at her suspiciously. “Why are you trying to help me?”

“I just want to even the playing field that’s all.”

“Well thanks, but I want nothing to do with this capitalist wet dream of a holiday.”

“Aw come on Bellamy,” she wheedles, hopping off the counter to get closer to him. “Christmas isn’t just about gifts you know. It’s about spending time with your friends and family. You know, goodwill and all that shit.”

He squints at her. “I think you’ve been watching too many of those trashy holiday movies.”

“They’re fun.”

“They  _ suck _ .”

“Why don’t you like Christmas?” Clarke asks, cocking her head to the side as she observes him.

He snorts. “What’s there to like? It’s just an excuse for people to buy things under the guise of caring for someone other than themselves, it’s always so noisy and come on, do we really need that much decorations? Do you understand how annoying it is for dragons? Everything is glittery and shiny and noisy and not to mention  _ cold _ . How people manage to stand this insufferable holiday in the most insufferable season is beyond me.”

She stares at him, mouth partially agape until he’s done with his ridiculous rant. “So let me get this straight,” she says slowly, struggling to smother her laughter. “You hate Christmas because it’s too noisy, too glittery and too cold?”

“I’m pretty sure I ranked fake sentiment at the top of that list,” he says. And then, following a beat of consideration, “Although the cold is up there as well. You have no idea what it’s like, Griffin. I can’t believe some of you like when the sun goes into hiding.”

“The sun is still here, asshole.”

“Then it’s not doing its damn job.”

“I’m going to make you enjoy Christmas,” she tells him, her confidence in herself almost overwhelming. “I can’t do anything about the weather but I’m pretty sure I can handle the rest. By the time the season is over you’re going to  _ love  _ Christmas.”

“I highly doubt that,” he says, staring at her hard. “I may just tolerate it at best.”

“I’ll take it,” she says, “Bellamy Blake, prepare to have the best Christmas of your life.

She starts small.

Clarke spent most of her night doing research and while it’s a  _ Bellamy _ thing to not like Christmas, most dragons are apparently discomforted by intense cold and bright lights or excessively shiny objects make it hard for them to concentrate, all of which contribute to the bulk of an Arkadian Christmas.

So she gets creative.

She manages to beg Monty to spare her a few sprigs of holly. It’s a hot commodity this time of year, not to mention that it’s a key ingredient in his pepper up potions to deal with the wicked flu that winter usually brings with it, but the moment she says it’s for Bellamy, he’s all but piling it into her arms.

“I’ve known the guy for years now and he’s never once shown and interest in Christmas,” he says as he wraps up the branches in a little parcel for her. “He hates it.”

“Well I’m going to change that,” she says and Monty laughs.

“Yeah, good luck with that. I’ve never seen a pair of people fight as much as you two. If you of all people convince him to like Christmas then the next thing I’m going to be looking for is flying pigs.”

“I’ll charm some just for you after I’m done with Bellamy,” she promises him and he laughs again.

She artfully weaves the holly branches into a wreath for Bellamy, even going as far as to enchant it to emit a soft glow all hours of the day on his front door. She does the same with store-bought garlands too, and drapes them along the borders of his bookcases and magicks some candles to float in the window. She even gets a little Christmas tree, no more than a foot and a half tall, and places it on the counter, right next to the register. It’s decorated with pinecones and frosted berries, not a shiny bauble in sight.

Clarke does all of this in less than fifteen minutes, the time it takes for Bellamy to run to the store and back to pick up some extra eggs. Maybe challenging for a normal person but, well, Clarke is magic. All she has to do is snap her fingers and everything is lining up and fixing itself where it needs to be.

She’s almost done fixing the tree when Bellamy returns and he just stands in the doorway gaping, almost dropping his eggs in shock.

“What did you  _ do _ ?” he asks as he steps into his shop, looking around in what she hopes is awe and not abject horror. It looks like awe. He’s not steaming as yet, which she takes as a good sign.

“I decorated,” she says, adjusting a pinecone.

“I can see that.”

“Do you like it?” she asks, biting her lip as she chances a peak at him. “I tried my best not to include any blinking lights, or baubles or bells.”

“Hmm,” he says, still in a daze as he gingerly touches the garlands. “Oh. Uh. It’s um, well it’s not  _ bad _ .”

“Not bad huh,” she repeats slyly and he snaps out of his stupor.

“I mean it’s not bad for Christmas decorations. If it can be called that.”

“It falls under the category of  _ minimalist chic _ .” 

“Right. Well. It’s nice. Although it’s a complete waste of resources, I mean, do you know how many pepper up potions Monty could have made with these? The next time someone comes down with the flu, I’m going to tell them to blame Clarke Griffin because she’s the reason why they couldn’t get something to help ward it off.”

“Uh huh,” she says, still smiling. “If you say so.”

“I do. I do say so.”

“Okay,” she hums, grabbing a chocolate chip cookie from the display much to his chagrin. “Enjoy your wreath!” she calls over her shoulder as she darts out the door and back to her own shop.

He says something in response as she’s running away, but she doesn’t hear him, out of breath and giggling and almost mowing over one of her customers in her haste.

A few days pass. The wreath stays up.

-

It doesn’t take long for the rest of the town to catch on to what she’s doing which is both a blessing and a curse because while she’s glad she has people willing to help, some of them take things a bit too far and end up sending her plan a few steps back.

Specifically Jasper and the Santa hat fiasco.

She doesn’t quite know what happened, just that a freaked out Jasper ran into her shop giving her patrons a good fright as he blubbers about almost being burnt alive by Bellamy.

When she finally gets over to the bakery, she finds Bellamy standing over the sink, watching a red hat smoulder.

“Uh, what do you have there?”

“A hat,” he grits out. “Although it’s supposed to be Jasper’s head.”

“And you set it on fire?”

“Technically that just happened.”

“So it spontaneously combusted.”

“I’m a dragon. Fires happen.”

“Uh huh.”

He glares at her. “What do you want, Clarke.”

“Jasper came crying about how he was terrified that you were going to murder him so I came over to check and see it you were experiencing any homicidal feelings.”

“This is your fault. You’re the one who wanted me to be  _ festive _ .” He says the words like a curse and she has to bite back a smile.

“While I agree that Jasper went a bit overboard, was it really necessary to set it on fire?”

“ _ Yes _ .”

They both stare at the dying flame, Clarke letting her mind wander. Getting Bellamy too look festive wasn’t really high on her list of priorities but she could see why Jasper assaulted him with a red hat. Bellamy only wears dark jeans and black sweaters. Everyday. All the time. It was as though he was a character in a video game and that was his default setting.

“I mean,” she starts, broaching the subject lightly, “You could maybe incorporate a bit more colour into your wardrobe. The whole black thing everyday gets boring kind of fast, don’t you think?”

He fixes her with a glare. “I am not going to start dressing like an elf,” he says, flat.

“I didn’t say you have to,” she says exasperatedly. “Just, you know, more colour.” She touches her finger to the centre of his sweater and immediately a spot of burgundy appears, quickly overtaking the entire sweater.

Bellamy yelps and jumps back but he’s too late, the entire thing has already changed colour.

Clarke laughs at the absolute distraught expression on his face.

“Oh relax you big baby,” she says. “I can change it back if you want.”

“No leave it,” he grumbles, dusting flour off the front. “But let everyone know that this is as festive as I get.”

“I will,” she nods solemnly before letting her eyes rake over him. It’s really a big difference, just a change in the colour, but for some reason it Clarke finds that it suits him even better, accentuating the curves of his biceps and his broad shoulders.

“You look good,” she says, trying to keep her voice casual.

She must have failed because Bellamy glances at up at her and one look at her face has a wicked smirk tugging at his lips.

“I do don’t I?” he says, flexing just a bit.

“Alright, don’t get cocky.”

“How am I being cocky? I just agreed with what you said,” he teases, stepping into her space. He’s very close to her, a kind of closeness that they don’t allow themselves to be unless alone in a darkened room where no one can see them. Standing toe to toe like this in a brightly lit kitchen is as far from that as they could get.

The smell of campfire smoke permeates her nose and standing this close she can make out the thin wisps of smoke around his nose and mouth that appear every time he exhales.

The last time they kissed was about two weeks ago, before she decided to make him enjoy Christmas. It wasn’t even at an event or anything. He just came over to brag about beating her in their bet which lead to an argument which then led to the two of them furiously necking in her pantry. He left a hickey on her neck. She had to conceal it for a  _ week _ .

Her eyes fall on his mouth for a split second, quick, but not quick enough that he doesn’t take notice.

His lips quirk up a little and then he’s leaning in and--

The bell on his door jingles as someone comes into the bakery and Bellamy smoothly steps back, flipping on the faucet and washing his spatulas.

“Hey Clarke, everything okay over here?” asks Wells, his brows furrowed as he watches between them. “Jasper is still hiding in the cafe. Wants to know if he’s gonna get murdered.”

“Uh huh,” she says. Her face feels like it’s on fire. “Everything is  _ dandy _ .”

“If he tries that stunt again, I  _ will _ eat him.”

“Dragons don’t eat people,” Wells points out.

Bellamy huffs a puff of smoke in his direction. “Yeah, well, Jordan doesn’t know that. Tell him I’m gonna flambe him and serve him as Christmas dinner.”

“Will do,” he nods before looking back at Clarke. “Ready to go back? You kinda took off without warning and we’re sort of dying in the kitchen with the lunch rush.”

“Oh! Right. Yes. Let’s go,” she says before glancing back at Bellamy. He’s remarkable straight faced and calm about this whole thing and she sort of wants to kick him. Instead she just says, “Nice sweater, Bellamy.”

“Thanks,” he says, a twinkle coming into his eye. “Nice elf stockings.”

“Try not to threaten to eat anyone else.”

“No promises.”

The sweater makes a few more appearances during the season and she even sees him sporting an emerald one a few times, one that he clearly had somewhere in the back of his closet since she had nothing to do with the pop of colour. Clarke smiles every time she catches a glimpse of them.

-

The one thing a bakery should be doing during the season is making Christmas cookies. It’s practically a ritual, so when she finds out that Bellamy  _ doesn’t _ make Christmas cookies, she’s understandably shocked.

“But what do people order for their parties?” she asks, following him around the kitchen as he prepares a batch of chocolate chip cookies for a customer to collect in the morning.

“Normal cookies?”

“But normal cookies are  _ boring _ .”

“You calling my cookies boring, Griffin?”

“No,” she says, rolling her eyes. “I’m just saying that Christmas cookies-- you know, the ones with the cute little frosting designs?-- are a Christmas staple. Do you know how many orders you’re missing out on?”

“Shouldn’t you be happy I’m missing out on orders?” he asks. “If I actually am that is.”

“This bet is no fun if it’s not a fair fight, Bellamy.”

He shrugs. “I just don’t particularly care for sugar cookies. They’re boring and tasteless and piling on more sugar in the form of icing? That’s diabetes waiting to happen, Clarke.”

“So decorate another kind of cookie.”

“And join the ranks of this capitalist holiday? No thanks.”

“You’re impossible.”

“Eat the rich, Clarke. Eat the rich.”

Clarke nabs a box of shortbread from the bakery as she leaves and spends the next three hours locked in her kitchen painstakingly decorating each one of them. She treats them as a canvas and her array of multicoloured batches of royal icing as her watercolours and  _ paints _ all two dozen cookies.

They all end up with different designs, looking more like actual pieces of art instead of cookies and she’s only a little sad to part with them.

(She takes at least a hundred photos of them before carefully arranging them back in the box though. They might be eaten but at least she’ll have these pictures forever.)

It’s not hard for Clarke to sneak into Bellamy’s shop. All she has to do is whisper and incantation to unlock the door and silence the bell and she’s in and out in less than a minute, leaving the cookies on the counter for him to find in the morning.

Of course, by the time morning rolls around Clarke has almost forgotten about the cookies what with dealing with the breakfast rush. She doesn’t remember until she takes a break in her office around midmorning after the crowd has cleared out and almost gets a heart attack at the sight of Bellamy sitting in her chair.

“Fucking  _ hell _ Bellamy, you almost gave me a heart attack,” she whisper yells at him, pressing her palm to her sternum. “What are you doing in here? How did you get in here?”

“You’re not the only one who knows how to sneak into a place,” he says, twirling a golden ball from her tree between his fingers.

“I wouldn’t really call it sneaking,” she shrugs, “All I did was ask you door very nicely to let me in.”

“Uh huh.”

“I  _ did _ .”

“I’m not saying otherwise,” he says, knees creaking as he stands up. He looks almost comically large in her little broom closet of an office, especially as he stalks towards her, really making their difference in size even more apparent. She almost doesn’t notice when he pockets the small golden ball, quick as a blink of an eye.

“The cookies were absolutely gorgeous and I couldn’t bring myself to sell them,” he says, looking down at her. 

“What did you do with them then?”

“I gave each kid who came in the store one,” he says, blushing a little and she grins at him.

“You are  _ such  _ a softy under those scales of yours,” she tells him.

“I do not have scales,” he sniffs, sounding more offended than she’s ever hear him in his life. “I just wanted to say thanks. You really didn’t have to do that.”

She waves him off. “It was nothing. It was actually kind of fun. I like painting and I don’t get to do much of it anymore. I’m always too busy with the store.”

“Well,” he says slowly, “If you can find some time, I got a load of orders for Christmas cookies just like them. They were a hit. With everyone.”

She grins at him. “What happened to not joining the ranks of this capitalist holiday?” she teases him, nudging his foot.

“I figure charging fifteen bucks a box means that I get the last laugh instead. And we’ll split it obviously. Each order we get goes in both of our books,” he says.

She pretends to mull it over for a second, just to make him sweat. “Alright fine,” she says after a moment of faux deliberation. “I’ll do it.”

“Great. I’ll bake some more cookies during the day. Come over whenever you’re done here and we can get started,” he tells her. And then, so quick that she almost thinks that she imagined it, Bellamy leans in and presses a kiss to her cheek. “Thanks Clarke.”

He saunters out of her office, leaving her jaw dropped and hair smelling faintly of smoke.

He doesn’t bring it up when she comes over to the bakery later to help him decorate the cookies and Clarke decides not to either. He has several sheet trays full of cookies to decorate which means they’re in for a long night but Clarke doesn’t mind. He has snacks and coffee and hot chocolate for them and not once does Bellamy complain when she magicks the radio to play Christmas songs.

Bellamy isn’t as bad as she thought he’d be at decorating. His piping is solid and they come up with a system that lets him do the base while Clarke works on the details. They finish just after midnight and decide to work on the rest of orders later down in the week so they don’t get stale.

He insists on walking her back to her flat, even though she lives right about the cafe which is literally across the street from his bakery, but she lets him anyway. It’s the thought that counts.

“That was fun,” he says, leaning against the wall as he watches her fumble with her keys.

“See? I told you Christmas can be fun,” she says, before giving up and just charming her door open. She turns to look at him. “Thanks again for helping me decorate them.”

“I should be telling you that,” he says, and she laughs.

“Still. I had fun. Good night Bellamy,” she says, and then, before she can lose her nerve, she stands up on her tiptoes and presses a kiss to his cheek, very close to the corner of his mouth.

She can tell that she’s stunned him for a moment judging by the dazed look in his eyes and he mumbles a soft  _ ‘goodnight’  _ as she closes the door.

-

Clarke Griffin has a crush on Bellamy Blake.

It’s a very daunting conclusion that she’s come too over the past couple of days as she tries to figure out when she became excited to see him during the day, whether it’s Bellamy popping in to drop off her favourite kinds of cupcakes (honey lavender which he said he only makes once in a while but batches have been popping up on an almost weekly basis) or Clarke taking her lunch break to go over to the bakery and chat with him, sitting cross legged on the countertop.

She doesn’t know how or when she went from loathing Bellamy to wanting to cuddle with him and hold his hand and kiss him all the time but alas, she does.

It’s kind of a problem.

Bellamy doesn’t make things easier either, always lighting up like a damn Christmas tree whenever he sees her. He hasn’t tried to kiss her again, but lately they’re always touching, always orbiting each other, whether it’s a hand on the back as they step around the other, or head on his shoulder, breathing in the scent of campfire smoke.

It’s safe to say that she’s gotten him to like Christmas, or at least tolerate it like he said.

The grand Arkadian snowball fight is an unofficial tradition that always happens the Saturday before Christmas. Everyone in the town comes out and participates except for one grumpy dragon, but this year Clarke intends on changing that.

“No way. I am not doing that,” says Bellamy, adamant in his decision to continue sitting the snowball fights out. “Did you forget that I said the snow  _ sucks _ ? Why the hell would I want to spend my time rolling in it?”

“Come  _ on _ Bellamy,” begs Clarke, “It’ll be fun.”

“You and I have two very different definitions of fun.”

“Just for a little bit. Half an hour.”

“Half an hour is long enough for me to catch my death out there. I’m not going.”

“Fine, twenty minutes then.”

“No.”

“ _ Bellamy _ .”

“Clarke.”

“I’ll let you have the angel,” she says as a last ditch attempt to coax him into going.

It catches his attention at least. “You’re lying,” he says, narrowing his eyes.

“Nope. Witches’ honour,” she promises.

He still eyes her suspiciously. “Give me the angel first.”

“Fine, but you have to promise that you’ll actually come.”

He smirks at her. “I will. Dragons’ honour.”

The angel was nothing more than a small ornament that hung on Clarke’s tree back in her cafe. It was bright gold and faceted, catching the light and making it shimmer. Bellamy has been trying to filch it from her for the past week and a half.

The moment she gives it to him he becomes distracted by it, eyes going wide like a cat’s as he focuses on the glittering gold. It takes Clarke several tries to get him to focus before he looks back at her.

“Time for you to hold up your end of the deal,” she says and he pouts.

“Fine,” he sighs, “But I’m gonna complain the entire time.”

She smothers her laughter behind a glove. “Of course you will. I expect nothing less.”

The snowball fight is already in full gear by the time they make it to the town square. Miller is the first one to notice the newcomers and sends a volley of snowballs pelting their way and Clarke shrieks, ducking behind Bellamy who gets hit in the chest, leg and face.

The ice melts almost immediately, leaving tiny rivulets running down his skin and he sputters a bit, wiping his face with the back of a gloved hand.

“This is supposed to be  _ fun _ ?” he says to Clarke as he shakes the snow out of his hair.

She ignores him for a brief moment, lining her shot up before throwing a ball at Raven. It arks gracefully in the air before finding its target and they can both hear the other girl swear from here on the other side of the square.

“Are you telling me that that was not entertaining?” asks Clarke, a little breathless with adrenaline.

“Maybe it was a little funny,” he concedes, ducking before he could get hit with another. From the distance they both hear Miller cackle and that’s all it takes for Bellamy to start forming snowballs and throwing them at anyone within sight. 

Jasper and Miller seem to be his main targets, but he gets a few hitting Monty and Harper and the rest of their friends. It quickly turns into a free for all when  _ Wells _ of all people nails Clarke in the back of the neck with a snowball, letting slush drip down her back. She gets back at him by enchanting several snowballs to attack him at once and then suddenly she’s everyone’s main target.

“Are you having fun yet?” she calls out to Bellamy before getting him in the neck with a snowball.

“Oh you’re going to pay for that,” he says, running towards her. Clarke takes off with a shriek, trying to outrun him, aiming for the edges of the town square. Their friends jeer and cheer at them as they run past, some even attempting to get them with a few snowballs of their own.

It doesn’t take long for Bellamy to catch her, he’s got a far longer stride than she does, not to mention that unlike Clarke, he actually goes to the gym and works out, which means he’s not out of breath after a few minutes of running.

He grabs her wrist, causing her to stumble, and then down they go, landing in a tall snowdrift and almost buries them alive.

Bellamy lands on top of her, knocking the air from her stomach and for a moment Clarke swears she sees stars.

“Ow,” groans Bellamy and she responds with one of her own.

“Right back at ya, buddy.”

“Are you alright?” he asks, eyes flittering down over her form. “Did I hurt you?”

Bellamy’s body is very warm against hers. So much so that if Clarke really focuses, she can almost pretend that they’re lying in bed together and not a snowdrift.

“No, I’m fine,” she says, still sounding a bit winded. “You?”

“I’ll live,” he says dryly, and she can’t help the giggle that escapes. He ducks his head, trying to hide a grin, and soon enough they’re both laughing.

“So I’m going to go out on a limb here and say that you were having fun,” she says, teasing him as they both struggle to sit up. They don’t quite get out of the snow as yet, just sitting in it with their legs tangles and their faces close to each other.

“Maybe,” he says, going along with it. She can see each individual freckle on his face, count the snowflakes caught in his lashes.

“And you liked it,” she murmured, moving in closer.

His eyes drift to her lips and her breath catches. “Maybe.”

Clarke has kissed Bellamy before, but those have always been frantic and messy and  _ good _ , but there’s always been a sense of urgency around them, as though it could be the last time at any given moment.

Bellamy leans in slowly, giving her ample time to turn away, but Clarke stays put.

When he kisses her, it’s slow and deep, as though he’s savouring every moment and she sighs into his mouth. His lips are almost burning her with how hot his skin is, and the contrast between them and the snow send shivers down her spine. One of her hands finds itself tangled in his hair and the other is curled into his coat.

She isn’t sure how long they sit there, trading languid kisses, but someone’s faraway squeal reminds them that they’re still very much in public and a snowbank can only hide so much.

Bellamy is the one who recovers first, stumbling to his feet and helping her up. His cheeks are pink, whether it be from the cold or the kiss, she isn’t sure.

“It’s been more than twenty minutes,” he says, stepping away from her. “I’m going to head back home.”

“Bellamy--”

“I’ll see you around, Clarke.”

And before she can say anything else, he’s gone, leaving her in the snow with numb fingers and an ache in her chest.

-

Clarke hasn’t seen Bellamy in almost three days and it’s finally Christmas. They’ve both been busy with their respective businesses, but the town is small enough that they can easily see each other for a few minutes a day.

Instead she hasn’t seen him since the kiss in the snow and she can’t stop thinking about that moment.

And now it’s Christmas and she’s given everyone their gifts except for stupid Bellamy because he’s a stupid boy who ran away from her after a stupid kiss.

Clarke tries to ignore it but it’s the only present left under her tree and at around 2 p.m. she cracks. She doesn’t bother to change out of her Christmas pyjamas, just shoves her feet in her winter boots and throws on her coat over it and marches across the street to Bellamy’s apartment.

She has to coax the door opening with magic since the stairs to his apartment are inside the building, and she makes sure to lock it back before climbing the stairs and banging on his door.

She’s thinking about using magic to open this one too when the lock finally clicks and the door opens to reveal a very disgruntled Bellamy.

“What the--  _ Clarke _ ?” he blinks down at her blearily, hair sticking up every which way, clearly having just woken up from a nap.

“Hi,” she says, biting her lip. “Merry Christmas.”

“Oh right. That. Merry Christmas,” he says.

“Can I come in?”

“Sure. Um, it’s kind of a mess.”

She waves off his apologies and steps inside.

Clarke has never been inside his apartment before, but it looks just like how she imagined it would. There’s a plush, comfy couch set in the middle and he has little hoards of  _ things _ . Stacks of books mostly, but she spots a few other things, like all the baubles he stole from her tree, a bowl of pens, the angel she gave him to get him to come to the snowball fight. Her eyes linger on the last one for a beat longer than the rest before she looks back at him.

“I brought turkey sandwiches. And a present for you,” she says, unpacking the bag for walked with.

“You didn’t have to get me anything,” he says, even as he focuses on the present in her hands. She wrapped it in gold metallic paper and he seems physically unable to look away from it. “I didn’t get you anything.”

She shrugs. “It’s fine. I don’t need anything anywhere. Come on, open it.”

He takes it from her and painstakingly removes the tape so that the paper is preserved and he folds it and adds it to his pile of gold things. There was a box inside and when he opens that he finds a handsome winter coat.

“It’s lovely, Clarke, thank you.”

“I told you I can’t do anything about the weather, but I can try to make it a bit more bearable for you,” she says, glancing down at her feet. “Put it on.”

He does as she says and then frowns as he pulls it over his shoulders. “It’s… warm.”

“I enchanted it,” she says, looking up at him from beneath her lashes. “You said the cold was a big reason why you didn’t like Christmas and now ta-da. Less cold.”

He shrugs out of it, holding it reverently in his arms. “Thank you Clarke, really. I don’t know what to say,” he says before flashing her a sad smile, “Guess this makes me a huge dick for not getting you anything, huh?”

“You’re a huge dick for so many other things besides that,” she teases and he huffs out a laugh. “Like ignoring me for the past few days.”

The laughter stops. “Clarke…”

“Look, Bellamy, it’s fine, I get it. You don’t want to date me.”

There’s a sharp inhale. “You think I don’t want to date you?” he asks, looking at her with his eyebrows furrowed. “Clarke, I’ve had a crush on you for  _ months _ .”

“ _ What. _ ”

Bellamy starts to laugh and she can’t help it, his laughter is infectious, she starts to laugh too.

“Clarke…” he says, stepping forward and lightly grasping at her forearms while looking at her, really looking at her. “I’ve liked you since you started coming up with those flimsy excuses to make out. I was just too scared to tell you so I took what I could get. And then when you came to my shop saying that you’d get me to love Christmas under the pretense of that stupid competition--”

“-- which I am currently winning by the way--”

“--I knew I couldn’t deny it anymore,” he says, smiling at her. “I kind of like you.”

She grins up at him, feeling her eyes burn with happy tears. “I kind of like you too, Bellamy Blake,” she says, before stretching up on her tiptoes to grab his face and give him a wet, smacking kiss, one which he eagerly returns, lifting her up in his arms and blindly walking them over to his couch.

Later, when she’s curled against his chest, basking in his warmth and the smell of campfire smoke while he plays quietly with her hair, Bellamy would say,

“Maybe you were right about Christmas. It’s not so bad after all.”

“I told you so,” she grins looking up at him.

“Yeah, yeah, don’t get too caught up. I’m still not wearing a stupid Santa hat.”

“I wouldn’t expect anything less,” she tells him and he leans down to drop a kiss to the crown of her head.

“Merry Christmas, Clarke.”

“Merry Christmas, Bellamy.”

**Author's Note:**

> i'm on tumblr @hiddenpolkadots


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